


Pity for the Living, Envy for the Dead

by walkwithursus



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Castration, Cheating, Dubious Consent, Emotional Support, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Genital Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Coercion, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutilation, Nathan is a Good Man, Penectomy, Permanent Change, Permanent Injury, References to Drugs, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Coercion, That's The Alternative Title Lmao, Unconditional Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a good man is hard to find
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: When I was touching you before, I didn't feel anything.What was Charles supposed to say? The truth was too hard, too horrible to explain to anyone, especially Nathan Explosion, who was afraid of dental drills and summer colds.“I was captured.”Imprisoned. Butchered.“Soon after I left.” Charles said quietly, and he chose his next words with great care. “Someone needed information. They thought I could tell them, that bycuttingme they would get it out of me. They were wrong.”WARNING:R18+. Check the tags and notes before reading.





	Pity for the Living, Envy for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** This work contains a castrated male character and references to past torture and mutilation. However, there is no graphic violence in this fic. If you are uncomfortable reading about castration, do not proceed. Additionally, there are some moments of dubious consent. Please check the tags before reading this work. Thank you.

Nine months was a very, very long time. 

Enough time to grow a human from scratch in the womb. To create something from nothing. To transform from a single cell into a living, breathing organism. In some ways Charles’ return to Mordhaus after the Revengencers’ attack was like a rebirth, a new and black beginning for the man he had become, a transformation from the simple to the complex. And as with all new beginnings, there were some things that Charles was determined to let die upon his return. 

His physical relationship with Nathan being one of them. 

Things between them had been infrequent, undefined, and now that he was back Charles did not intend for them to start up again. It was far easier not to, and considering just how much more complicated everything else had become since his return it made sense to let this one thread lie. That’s what he told himself, at least, the conscious rationale, though admittedly there were other, more personal reasons that had little to do with Dethklok and everything to do with Charles, and what had happened to him during his nine month absence. 

He tried not to spend much time thinking about it, but in many ways it was unavoidable. The reminder was there in every personal moment, every shower, every change of clothes. And though the cut had happened months ago a sort of terrible phantom sensation lingered, so that every so often it was as though he experienced the entire ordeal over again in the safety of his office, or the privacy of his own chambers, a throbbing, stabbing pain that would not ease for hours at a time.

Castration was not the correct term. Castration implied the sole removal of the testes, and Charles had not been so fortunate. They’d left him nothing but scar tissue, vile, ugly stretches of it from the top of his pubic bone to the base of his perineum. It sickened him to look at, to touch, and so he could only imagine how another person might feel to do the same, how Nathan would feel if he were to stumble upon the truth accidentally. Charles couldn’t really stand to consider the possibility, so it was better not to get involved, for both their sake’s.

And so the question lingered unaddressed in the back of his mind; if this had not happened, if he had returned to Mordland whole, untouched, would things have been different? Would he have felt differently upon seeing Nathan again for the first time? Would Nathan have wanted to resume their physical relationship -- and for that matter, would Charles have? 

Truthfully, Charles didn’t like to think about ‘what ifs’, and instead decided to feel grateful that the choice had been made for him. 

Nathan did not appear to feel the same. It was several weeks before Charles had things in hand with Dethklok again, and in that time he made it a priority to see as little of Nathan as possible. Other than irregular band meetings he stayed far and away, and Nathan seemed to sense it, to watch him with careful eyes, and Charles feared that he knew something was different in the way that he walked and talked and spoke and breathed. 

Logically, Charles knew it was not possible for Nathan to know, to have guessed right what had changed. Perceptive though he undoubtedly was, Charles had long since lost his limp, and had had a new fit tailored to his dress slacks to mask whatever might have otherwise looked off. Even the way he sat was pre-planned, orchestrated to look as normal for a man as possible. He’d had nigh on fifty years experience sitting like one, so it wasn’t hard to imitate. 

If any difference in his posture did exist, it was subtle enough that the Klokateers and the rest of Dethklok did not notice. Nathan was the only one who looked twice, and though that wasn’t exactly anything new, there was a question in his eyes when Charles caught them, one that he did not intend to answer.

So he steered clear of the front man, took the hidden passageways more often and spent less time in his office in favor of his seat in the central control room. But the avoidance could not continue indefinitely, which was why Charles was only somewhat surprised when Nathan finally cornered him after a perfunctory band meeting. The charade was up, the pleasant, arm’s-length gentility was at its end, and though he was not glad for it, a part of Charles was relieved.

Nathan chose to walk around the large polished table to plant his feet in front of the only door. Though not quite guarding it, his frame took up enough space that maneuvering around him to exit would be difficult, and so Charles understood that he meant to have a word. Looking up, the manager saw his client’s arms were crossed and his stance was wide, screaming of dominance and defiance like a schoolyard bully. Charles decided not to respond to his body language, and kept his own form open, receptive. Professional. He waited patiently for Nathan to speak, because this was, after all, about him.

When the front man at last opened his mouth, his tone was as hostile as his posture. “Why won’t you look at me?” 

Charles looked at him, pointedly, right in the eyes and answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know what I mean.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Charles said, and Nathan let out a disbelieving snort and tossed his head. Charles was reminded of a Spanish bull, and dialed back the coolness of his tone. Playing dumb would only contribute to the front man’s apparent frustration, and God only knew that Nathan didn’t need any help in escalating a situation. “I’m looking at you now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not -- you know that’s not what I meant,” Nathan said, and his jaw clicked as he worked it side to side. “But you haven’t been -- looking at me, talking to me. You’ve been back for what, two, three months now? And in that time you’ve said all of two words to me.” Charles opened his mouth to contradict, but Nathan put up a hand. “Don’t you fucking deny it.” 

Charles frowned and answered placidly, “I’m not denying anything.” A lie. “And I haven’t been trying to ignore you, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Another lie. “I’m sure you can imagine how busy things have been since I’ve been back, so you’ll have to excuse me if I’ve been a little unavailable.” Not exactly a lie, since things had been getting on like a house on fire. More like a stretched truth.

“More than a little,” Nathan ground out, and Charles acquiesced:

“Alright, more than a little.”

Nathan seemed satisfied with the answer, with the not-quite-an-apology, and relaxed his stance, letting his arms uncross and dangle at his sides. “Okay,” he said, and then repeated, “Okay,” as he bit down on the corner of a shy smile. Charles looked away from the expression and cleared his throat. 

“So what is it that you want, Nathan?” Direct. To the point. 

Nathan seemed to deliberate over the question, letting the smile tug at the corner of his mouth as though he were considering the best way to phrase his proposition. Charles had seen this look before, too many times to count, and if he’d used to find it endearing, it now churned his stomach, sent a bolt of anxiety up and down his rigid spine. He was ready for the pointed step forward, the one that landed Nathan just within Charles’ personal space, and he angled his body smoothly to avoid close contact. 

“You know what I want,” Nathan answered at last, and the suggestion dripped from his words like honey, like blood. 

Charles pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and set his jaw. “No, Nathan, I don’t know what you want. Why else would I have asked?” It was a bad answer, a weak answer, and Charles mentally reprimanded himself for leaving the conversation open for continuation when there were a half a dozen ways he could have ended it then and there. 

Nathan seemed not to like the answer either. He paused with his mouth half open, puzzled, and Charles felt a single stab of regret. In all their time together, doing whatever it was they had done, Charles had always been the one to facilitate things, to guide the poor, inexpert younger man. Though Nathan had initiated their physical relationship, it was Charles who had organized it, kept its secret over the years, meticulously planned their every move so as not to arouse suspicion from the others. Nathan seemed confused to have been passed that same torch, but little did he know it had been extinguished long before it reached his hands. 

“Do you want me to say it?” Nathan asked at last, frown lines deepening around his downturned mouth. “Is that what this is? You want to hear me beg, or something? ‘Cause that’s kinda fucked up, Charles, but I’ll do it.”

The notion that Nathan was not above begging him for company, for sex, settled like a pit in his stomach. “I don’t want to hear you say anything,” Charles said tightly, truthfully, and he turned his chin up. 

Nathan didn’t understand. _Couldn’t_ understand. He reached out one giant hand and clasped Charles’ fist, and his skin was hot and soft. “Come to my room tonight,” Nathan murmured, and Charles felt the ghost of a shiver pass through his body.

Nathan’s eyes were warm, and pleading, but they could not touch him in such a cold place. And so Charles whispered, “No,” and extricated himself from Nathan’s grip. 

He left Nathan alone in the conference room and closed the door behind him.

______

Charles stood for a long time outside Nathan’s door that night. 

It had taken most of the afternoon to reach this conclusion, but Charles felt that he had finally done so, at -- he checked his watch -- 

One in the morning. 

Needless to say it had been difficult, complicated, perhaps even painful, but after a half-dozen mental pros and cons list, Charles had been unable to come up with any other ideas, and decided that the right thing to do was also the honorable thing to do. Not that Charles was particularly concerned with his own honor, but Nathan’s feelings did deserve consideration, and so here he was, speech prepared and palms sweating right outside the front man’s bedroom door. Charles’ heart was hammering in his chest, so loud and so fast that for a moment he wondered how Nathan could not have heard it and come running to answer. But he’d been standing for over a minute now and it appeared Nathan was not coming to retrieve him, and so Charles knocked softly and waited for the door to open.

It cracked. Charles looked up to see a dark eye squinting down at him, and then the door opened wide and Nathan filled the space. He was fully clothed, pajamas under a dark red robe, and Charles had a feeling the decision was intentional. After all, he had done the same, worn his full suit as a sort of armor, a last line of defense, for emotional and physical vulnerability often went hand in hand. 

Nathan stood aside wordlessly, and Charles ducked tightly under his arm to enter the bedroom and cast an eye around. It was clean. Possibly the cleanest he’d ever seen it. No clothing or food or garbage in sight, just the smoothed planes of the blanket on the bed and the bare surfaces of the nightstands. The sound system on the far wall was lit up, a myriad of LED lights thrown gently around the room as a song played softly in the background. Charles started to walk toward it but Nathan beat him to it, and powered it off with a jab of his thumb. 

“Thank you.” Charles said stiffly. 

It was all a little too familiar. A reminder that Nathan knew their routine, had gone out of his way to show Charles that he remembered what he liked, what he wanted when he visited Nathan in his private chambers. A clean and quiet place. No music. Charles wished he had let him turn the stereo off himself. 

“No problem,” Nathan replied, equally short. Charles made it a point to look at him after the man’s comment that afternoon, but Nathan seemed to fidget under his gaze, until at last he walked from the stereo to plunk down on the corner edge of his bed. He gestured toward the opposite side of the mattress, and Charles took the invitation and sat beside him at arm’s length. 

“So you came,” Nathan pointed out needlessly. 

“I did.” Charles said, and he cleared his throat reflexively before continuing. “I thought it might do us both some good if we could talk. Clear the air, so to speak.” 

Nathan nodded in agreement, and Charles felt a surge of foolish hope that this would be easier than he’d anticipated. Wouldn’t it be convenient if Nathan had taken the afternoon to think things over, and reached the same conclusion that Charles had? Allowing for them to part smoothly in a matter of minutes with a lighter heart, a lighter conscience? 

At least, Charles hoped he’d feel lighter, because at that moment his heart seemed to weigh about a thousand pounds in his chest.

He waited a few seconds to see if Nathan would speak first before resuming his train of thought. “A lot has happened since I left,” he started calmly, evenly, but to his great surprise his voice broke embarrassingly on the last word, and he pressed his lips shut tight together. Nathan glanced at him, saw that he was unfit to speak and opened his mouth to fill the silence.

“I know.” Nathan said. “I know. I mean, everything was different here while you were gone, for all of us. For me. You know about most of it, I think, but a lot of shit went down and, well, I just. I think this is as good a time as any to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry we blew all the money and fucked up with Crystal Mountain. Even if Damien Cornickelson is a fucking _asshole_ \-- “ Nathan cut himself off mid-growl, and shook his head as though to clear it. “Just. I guess what I’m trying to say is, if we hadn’t fucked everything up while you were gone we wouldn’t be in as big of a mess now, and you wouldn’t be so stressed out. Right?” Nathan looked at Charles for confirmation, and he managed a surprised nod before the front man plowed on. 

“And look. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, where you were, and I get that. I get it. But I just think everything seems so different now, like a bunch of shit has changed that I don’t even know about, and if you could just explain _some_ of it...” Nathan trailed off into silence as Charles shook his head tightly back and forth.

There was no explanation. None of the events of his nine month absence could be shared, even if he wanted to, even if he thought the boys could handle it. Charles was sworn so tightly to secrecy he didn’t even know if he could whisper the words out loud alone, with no one around to hear them. But the Church had made it perfectly clear that Dethklok was not to be told for their own safety, and so nothing, _nothing_ Nathan said or did would loosen his tongue. 

“I told you before, Nathan. When the time is right, I’ll tell you everything,” Charles stated firmly, and Nathan wrestled a scowl off his face before replying.

“Yeah, well, figures,” he grunted, and they lapsed into silence. Nathan found a loose thread in the sleeve of his robe and started to pull on it. Charles watched him and kept his own hands folded securely in his lap, even as they longed to fidget with something of their own. Once Nathan had yanked the final inch of red string from his arm he spoke again, and this time the words came out in a rush. 

“Look, there’s uh, there’s something else. I don’t know if you know this -- you probably already do, but while you were gone, I uh… y’know, _hooked up_ … with some people,” he glanced fervently at Charles, and continued, “but it wasn’t. I mean, I was always, you know, safe, and it hasn’t... _I_ haven’t…” Nathan took a deep breath and finished, emphatically, “Not since you’ve been back.”

Charles blinked and tried to smother the look of surprise that threatened to overwhelm his carefully balanced features. He had not known. Truthfully, he’d never given the matter any thought. In all their time together, Charles had never expected fidelity from the man, so to hear that he had been with others during his absence was of little significance. 

It wasn’t as though they had been exclusive in the past. To his knowledge, Nathan had slept with women while he was on tour, and he’d slept with Rebecca Nightrod during their brief relationship, though admittedly Charles didn’t think there had been any overlap between either of those instances and his own experiences with Nathan. Still, the revelation that he had slept with other people did not hurt him -- at least, not in the way Nathan might have expected it to.

It was the way Nathan spoke about it, as though he were confessing to some deadly sin, like the guilt had been tearing him apart from the inside out, _that_ was hard to hear. The words held an implication, as though the front man believed that by having slept with other people he had somehow betrayed Charles’ confidence. In some weird, other-worldly way, Nathan was practically lying down at Charles’ feet, offering him sole access to his body, the body of a god, and that was the part that stung. There might have been a time where the admission would have filled Charles with satisfaction, or pride or pleasure. Instead he felt a profound sadness for Nathan, and for himself in knowing that he was unworthy of the man’s devotion. Charles found himself shoveling the information down deep before he could give it any further thought.

“So now you know,” Nathan finished, and he took a deep breath. “That’s everything. And if you want to get up and leave now, you can. I won’t, y’know… try to stop you.” 

It was an out. 

_Get up and I won’t stop you._

There was a dark appeal to the idea, and Charles felt the temptation deep inside his selfish heart. How easy it would be to reach out and take it, to seize the opportunity and run from the room before things had to get hard -- harder than they already were, hard for _him_. Nathan had already taken the hit for them both and given him an excuse, so what purpose did it serve to tell him _‘No, I’m actually fine with you sleeping with other people, but now that you mention it I still want to stop seeing you’?_

It would be wrong, of course, another lie to add to his growing list. And no matter how appealing the idea might be, Charles knew that he could never let Nathan take the blame for what was about to happen. He was too good, too innocent, and all personal feelings aside, to do so would be to threaten Charles’ position within the Klok. Not from his end of course, but from Nathan’s, who might view his continued presence in Mordhaus as a constant reminder of his apparent transgressions. 

As hard as it would be, Charles had to pass on Nathan’s out and create one of his own.

“Nathan that’s not what I came to talk to you about,” Charles started gently. “But I do appreciate your honesty. I’m sure that was very difficult for you to say. And I want you to know that what you’ve just said has nothing to do with what I’m about to say next.” He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs wouldn’t inflate, and suddenly every nerve in his body was screaming in protest, combating the words that were about to leave his wretched mouth. “I came here to tell you that I, ah, won’t be coming to visit you like this,” he swept a hand around the room. “Not anymore. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if we were to put a stop to it. Formally.” 

The ‘formally’ part was necessary. It had been well over a year since they’d last slept together, and to the outside eye it would appear as though things had in fact ended. Yet it was clear from Nathan’s words this morning that a formal conclusion was necessary, and Charles figured he owed him that much. Though he himself would have preferred to leave the pieces of their relationship where they’d fallen, Nathan seemed determined to put them back together. So now Charles would put them away for good, right in front of him.

Charles ignored the burning in his chest and stared through Nathan’s eyes as he continued. “Please try to understand that this has nothing to do with you. Our professional relationship means a great deal to me, but I think it’s best we set this aside. To put the band first.”

Nathan recoiled as though Charles had reached out and slapped him across the face. 

“Put the band first?” Nathan asked, eyes flashing darkly, and for the first time that night he met Charles’ gaze head on. “Bullshit, Charles. In all the years I’ve known you, never once have you not put the band first. Not by a fucking long shot. And this,” he jabbed a finger at Charles, then at himself, “has never gotten in the way of anything.” Charles started to shake his head, but Nathan cut that off. “Don’t fucking shake your head at me. I’m right, and you know it.”

He was right, of course. Charles would never have allowed things to happen between them in the first place if it weren’t for his commitment to the band above all else, above all others, Nathan Explosion included. In their years together, never once had Charles compromised his integrity for the man, exalted his needs above those of the Klok or sacrificed what ought not to have been sacrificed. 

“I understand that you’re upset,” Charles said evenly, knowing it would be easier to ignore the man’s rational argument and focus on his emotional reaction. “But I really think that this is what’s best, and in time, I think you’ll come to see it that way too.” 

“No, I fucking won’t,” Nathan argued, and he stood up suddenly to tower over Charles, who remained seated on the edge of the mattress. “I won’t, because this isn’t fucking happening. I won’t let it.” 

“It’s already done,” Charles countered, displaying his palms upward in a calming gesture, but Nathan shook his head violently in response and turned to pace in front of the bed. 

“No, it isn’t! You can’t just make this call on your own. Fuck, I mean, you only just got back, how do you even know what’s right for the band right now? What’s right for me? No -- I’ll tell you, you fucking don’t. You don’t know.” Nathan snarled, as his bare feet slapped the floor. Charles watched his progress back and forth, back and forth, and kept his lips pressed tightly together. 

Again, Nathan was right, and Charles was lying. But what was he supposed to say? _I can’t be with you anymore because I can’t bare to have you touch me? Because I’m not whole anymore? Because the thought of you seeing what’s left of my body makes me want to die?_ None of that would work, and so Charles just shook his head slowly, regretfully, and waited for the tirade to end. 

“You’re a fucking selfish prick, you know that?” Nathan was saying, and Charles had to bite his cheek to keep from nodding in agreement. “But you know what? I’m not gonna fucking let you take this from me. Not after nine fucking months, Charles. _Nine fucking months_ I’ve waited for you, and I’m not about to fucking let you get away with this. The answer is no.” 

Charles was fairly certain there had been no question. “I’m sorry.” He said simply, staring at the black-painted toes that had come to a stop right in front of him. 

“Look at me.” Nathan ordered, and Charles tilted his chin up obediently, staring blankly somewhere close to Nathan’s face. It wasn’t good enough. A hand darted out and grasped his jaw, and suddenly Charles’ vision was overwhelmed with a pair of wild black eyes, so close to his face that he flinched back.

“I’m looking,” Charles snapped, and he jerked his head to try and free his chin from the other’s grip. Nathan yielded, allowing his hand to slide until it rested on the back of his neck, and Charles shivered at the intimacy of the touch, at the feel of the thick fingers rubbing the ridges of the branded gear on his skin. 

“Do you feel that?” Nathan asked, and Charles grit his teeth in answer, because how could he not? The touch was too familiar, too personal, one he’d felt a dozen times. Nathan loved the scar. More than once he’d come while grinding his thumbs into it, as he took Charles from behind. 

“Don’t touch it!” Charles rolled his neck in effort to dislodge the fingers, but Nathan only tightened his grip and sunk to his knees between the manager’s legs. Charles’ breath was coming faster now, and his heart was racing in his too-tight chest, a gallop in his ear drums. Nathan was watching him silently, noting the effects of his touch and smirking with a coy satisfaction, as though he’d expected nothing less from him. 

“I thought so,” Nathan said, and he leaned in until his chest just barely touched Charles’ knees. Charles tried to lean away but found his body frozen, locked up in some sort of frightened anticipation, waiting to see what method of humiliation the younger man would throw upon his ruined body next. 

He was not kept waiting. 

Nathan pressed in slowly, predatorily, until their breath mingled fast and hot in the space between their lips. Neither man closed his eyes, and he watched as Nathan’s pupils dilated like a junkie, with a hunger so severe that Charles feared he’d never take his fill. But this was Nathan Explosion, and he took what he wanted when he wanted, so it was with a groan of fervent longing that he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Charles’ trembling lips. 

Charles had not been held in over a year, or kissed, or touched at all for that matter. Nathan had been the last to do so, and was now the first to do so again, running his tongue along Charles’ lower lip until his mouth opened, slipping his hands through his short hair and dragging the blunt nails across his scalp. Charles’ body responded like the starving animal it was; goosebumps erupted across his flesh, and he released the last of his breath in a stupid, tremulous groan, allowing Nathan’s tongue passage into his mouth.

Charles could hardly fault his body for submitting to it. It was the human thing to do, the natural consequence of a year without physical contact, but he felt a dull murmur of confusion nonetheless. What was there to feel excited over, when nothing lay between his legs? How could he possibly feel passionate when there was no release? It had to be mental, in which case Charles knew he could control it, reign it in until he’d regained the upper hand in the exchange. 

But Nathan was insistent. There was a ferocity to his movements that both frightened and excited Charles, a frantic desperation behind every touch as though it might be his last. He was insatiable, animal, clutching so hard the older man feared he might break in half, or worse, that Nathan’s arms were the only thing holding his fractured body together. 

Nathan pawed the suit jacket from his shoulders, and Charles tugged it off behind his back without thinking, letting it drop from his wrists and onto the floor after he’d dislodged it from his watch. Next went the tie, which Nathan loosened and slipped from his throat with thick fingers, and that too fell away, to the floor or to the mattress, it didn’t matter. Nathan crooked a finger in the heel of his loafer and peeled the shoe from his foot, and then did the same to the other. Someone finally had the sense to do away with the glasses, and Charles distantly registered the sound of the frames clicking against the stone floor, and was glad for their absence. It wasn’t until Nathan began thumbing at his shirt collar that Charles finally snapped back into his body, and he realized with a jolt of alarm that Nathan could not be allowed to see him. Underneath the clean white dress shirt his torso was ruined, a different landscape than last the man had seen it, and so Charles knocked the hands away, but not before they’d popped the first two buttons. 

Nathan barely seemed to register the change in his manner, having switched to tugging the shirt tail from the waistband of Charles’ slacks. In one quick motion he’d done it, and Charles felt his stomach bottom out as the starched white fabric was shoved up to his ribs, exposing the marred flesh of his midriff. Nathan leaned back as though to take in the sight, but Charles was quicker, and had the shirt down before the man could catch so much as a glimpse. 

“Nathan, please, slow down,” Charles urged breathlessly, desperately, and Nathan obeyed, turning instead toward disrobing himself. He shoved the robe off and lifted the pajama top up and over his head. His body was unchanged since last Charles had seen it. Heavily muscled, softer in the middle where he carried his weight, and lightly haired across the chest and stomach. Charles had loved that body -- _worshipped_ that body, had at one point claimed it for himself. Seeing it now, exactly as he’d left it, he couldn’t help but think how it would feel to kiss the younger’s perfect skin, to run his cheek across the planes of Nathan’s chest and drag his lips and tongue down the line of hair that disappeared beneath the drawstring top of his pajamas. But the cold fist of fear had clenched around his heart, and instead he tried to crawl backwards onto the bed, away from the other man’s touch.

He didn’t get very far before Nathan’s hand was on the back of his neck, dragging him up until their lips connected once more. Charles followed his hands blindly, his guidance, allowed himself to be pulled and pushed as Nathan liked, until he realized his position was now astride the other man’s thighs. Instantly Charles stiffened, and hated himself for it, because in truth the gesture was so innocent. Nathan had left them both the majority of their clothes, and had done little more than kiss and stroke his lips and face. If he desired a little further contact Charles couldn’t fault him for it, and he tried bravely to bare the roll of Nathan’s hips beneath him, the sizable bulge that ground gainst his pelvis, against the scar tissue at his groin. But it was of no use. Frantic, fearful thoughts ran on loop through his brain. Any moment now Nathan was going to notice, was going to realize that something was not right, that something integral was missing from this encounter. He had to feel it, the absence beside his own arousal, it was right -- _there,_ exactly where it should have been, where Nathan ground up into. Desperately, Charles reached between them and grasped Nathan’s clothed cock in his fist, hoping to distract his attention from the flattened space. It had the opposite effect. Nathan’s hand strove to reciprocate the attention, and Charles felt it slide from his hip toward his navel, and then below toward his fly, but he caught it in hand and held it firmly. 

“No.” Charles said, and he tried to sound firm enough to deter him, but not so much as to cause the younger any alarm. Nathan grunted in response and twisted his wrist in Charles’ grip. He was strong enough to break free if he wanted, and Charles thought wildly of a way to combat his efforts, to still his progress. Working quickly, he released his hold on Nathan’s wrist, only to use the suddenly free hand to shove him back on the mattress until he lay flat. Nathan’s hands fell uselessly to his sides, and Charles let out a breath of relief as he situated himself more modestly across his lap. 

“Just stay like that,” Charles commanded, and Nathan chuckled under his breath, already sitting back up, running his hands beneath the fabric of the untucked dress shirt. 

“I can’t,” he murmured sincerely, as he pressed his lips against the side of Charles’ throat. “It’s been too long. I can’t help it.” 

Charles couldn’t reply, as his mouth was crushed and forced open at the insistence of Nathan’s tongue, hot and slick, and he gave into it without thinking, without feeling. His nose was smashed to one side and he could hear the short, labored breaths whistling in and out of one nostril, coming faster and faster as the fervency of the kiss took what little air he had left. 

And before he knew it, before he could stop it, Nathan’s hand snaked down the top of his trousers. It was a short investigation. A long, slow grind at first, undoubtedly meant for his cock, and then a couple of shorter, groping pats as Nathan’s fingers sought what they would not find. And then nothing. His fingers stilled, cupping the naked flesh where his package should have been, and Charles pulled back from the kiss with a strangled, throaty, _“Stop.”_

It had happened too fast. He hadn’t been ready for it, hadn’t been anticipating it and now it was done. Too late. 

Charles watched in horror as Nathan’s eyebrows knit together, a bewildered fog coming over his previously dilated eyes, and with that he wrenched the hand from below his waistband and scrambled off the bed. 

_“I have to go,”_ he spit out, as he gathered up his fallen belongings, the jacket and tie and one of the shoes. Alarm bells were clanging all throughout his head, warning sirens, urging him to evacuate immediately, to save himself from an imminent danger. His socked foot landed on one of the noodle-thin arms of his glasses, and Charles shoved them onto his face as he located and gathered up the second shoe. From the corner of his eye he could see Nathan’s bare feet dangling off the edge of the bed, presumably just as limp with shock as their owner. 

Jacket, tie, glasses, shoes. With everything in hand Charles turned to bolt, but Nathan caught him hard by the elbow and spun him around. Charles spared the briefest glance toward his face and then looked quickly back to the door, taking a couple short steps toward it as far as Nathan’s grip would allow for.

“Wait! Charles, I said _wait._ You’re leaving?”

“I have to. I really, really have to,” Charles hissed through clenched teeth, and he tried to pry the fingers off his bicep one by one, bending them backward. Nathan’s grip stayed firm. 

“I don’t understand!” He shouted. “I thought everything was okay, I thought… Fuck, you can’t go yet! You just got here.” Nathan tugged him back toward the bed, and Charles looked at him again, saw the raw honesty, the open pain on his face and faltered in his efforts to dislodge his fingers. But only for a moment, as the panic overtook the pause.

“I have to leave. Now.” Charles repeated.

“No.” Nathan said, and he set his jaw. “You can’t leave. Not until you explain why.” 

Charles jerked his arm. “Why? What do you mean, _why?_ You’ve felt for yourself,” he gestured with a laden arm toward the front of his dress slacks. “There’s not much left to explain, is there?” 

“Yes there is,” Nathan argued, but his eyes lingered on the space Charles had indicated, and once more there passed a cloud of confusion. “I _felt_ that, but you haven’t explained anything!”

With a burst of strength Charles tore his arm from Nathan’s grasp, and in the next second he had backed out of reach, shoulders heaving as he clutched his things to his chest. He half expected the front man to follow his backward path, to grab him and pull him back toward the bed, but Nathan stayed seated and made no move to pursue him. Charles could see the rage, the grief, the confusion as plain as day on his face as he called out, “Charles, _please._ ”

It was like there was a string around what was left of his heart, or a leash, and Nathan’s plea was a sharp tug to it. Charles had never before denied the man anything, not in all their years of knowing one another. And maybe that was a bad thing, maybe he had enabled the man one too many times, encouraged his drinking or his reckless behavior, but the fact remained that Charles had never said no to Nathan Explosion. And so if he demanded an explanation, Charles had damn well better provide one, so long as it was within his right to do so. Which it was. This had nothing to do with the Church, or with the prophecy. This was a selfish personal secret, and if Nathan asked to know, Charles should tell him. _Had_ to tell him. No matter if he wanted to or not.

Charles felt the tension drain out of his limbs, replaced by a heavy, leaden fatigue. His shoulders slumped, and with a great deal of effort he gallow marched straight toward the opposite end of the bed to sit as far from Nathan as he could manage. Consciously, he piled his belongings in his lap, a sort of last bastion of protection against the eyes he knew would inevitably search him. 

Nathan watched him silently, but there was no triumph in his expression, only sadness, and Charles couldn’t help but turn the phrase _‘Be careful what you wish for’_ over in his mind. This was not the sort of truth that could be forgotten or unlearned, and Charles could only hope bitterly that Nathan was ready to bare its heavy burden. 

Neither man spoke. Charles knelt to start putting on a shoe, but Nathan made a sound of protest.

“I’m not leaving. I’m just putting my shoes on,” Charles snapped, and Nathan settled back down. Silence stretched between them, a great chasm of discomfort, but what was there to say? Charles had never intended to explain this to anyone. Perhaps one day a medical professional or a surgeon, but never to Dethklok, never to Nathan, who he cared for, who he revered above all others, whose opinion of him _mattered_. There was no rehearsal for this, no planned speech or Q &A, and now that the moment had arrived Charles found himself tongue tied. 

_Tortured._

_Mutilated._

No matter how many times he tried to reformulate the phrase, the words he needed to say, they would not take shape in his mouth. 

_Gelded._

_Castrated._

_Dismembered._

It was Nathan who eventually spoke first. His voice was quiet, hesitant, as he rounded out the question Charles knew he had to ask, the one he dreaded, the one he could never sufficiently answer.

“When I… when I was touching you before, I didn’t… feel anything.”

_I didn’t feel anything._

_I didn’t **feel anything.**_

There it was. A great deal more tactful than he’d have given Nathan credit for, but he’d said it nonetheless, broached the secret Charles had been prepared to take to the grave. It wasn’t a question so Charles gave neither yes or no, but his throat made a sound, a sort of panicked gargling like he was choking on his own tongue. He rocked forward, conscious of a sudden painful nausea that boiled his stomach acid and shot vomit straight to the back of his throat. Charles swallowed the sour bile down and was silent.

Nathan apparently thought for a few minutes before he tried to speak again. Charles kept his face in his hands and could not therefore see his expression, but the front man’s tone carried an undercurrent of denial. “I don’t get it,” he said at last.

“What’s not to get?” Charles mumbled into his hands.

“I don’t get… it. This. I don’t get it. Is this some sort of joke?” 

Charles shook his head, and afterwards Nathan was quiet for a long time. There was no movement of the mattress beneath him, so Charles guessed he didn’t get up or scoot away from him, as though they could have been any further apart as it was. After what felt like an eternity, Nathan finally spoke again, and his voice was hoarse.

“What _happened_?”

Charles pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids. “I told you. A lot happened while I was away,” he answered shortly, and Nathan snorted.

“I thought you meant… fuck, I don’t know what I thought! Not _that_. Not _this_.” 

Charles shrugged tightly and dropped his hands to his lap, sitting up straight. “Why would you have? It’s not exactly common, is it? Not the sort of thing you hear about every day.” He had never felt lower, which meant there was nothing to lose, and so he chanced a glance at Nathan’s face. His mouth was a hard line, but his eyes betrayed the truth. It glittered there in the dark, the unreality, as though he were listening to a friend describe their nightmare

“I just… How? _Who?_ ” Nathan asked, and Charles waved his hand to dismiss the questions. Not worth answering. Not the sort of details he needed to know. Nathan slammed his fist against the wooden post of the bedframe in frustration and bellowed, “ _Damn it,_ Charles! You have to tell me. I need to know what happened.”

Charles wiped a hand across his face and tried to drag the deadened look from his features, the one he tried so hard mask. What was he supposed to say? The truth was too hard, too horrible to explain to anyone, especially Nathan Explosion, who was afraid of dental drills and summer colds. “I was captured.” _Imprisoned. Butchered._ “Soon after I left.” Charles said quietly, and he chose his next words with great care. “Someone needed information. They thought I could tell them, that by _cutting_ me they would get it out of me. They were wrong.” 

“What information? Did you know it?” Nathan asked, and Charles shook his head no. Another lie. But what purpose would it serve to hear Nathan say _‘You should have told them’?_ Perhaps he should have -- perhaps he should have also swallowed that cyanide pill, but Charles had never been one to take the easy way out. And the deed was done, now, the choice was made. Hindsight 20/20. 

Nathan was looking at him, and Charles saw his eyes fall to the pile of clothing on his lap, as he’d expected them to. “When it happened,” Nathan started, “Did they take… I mean, is it all... Everything?”

Charles took it to mean he wanted to know what was missing, what parts of himself had been stolen away, and so he nodded and said “Everything,” in affirmation. It was the hardest word he’d said thus far. It was agony.

Nathan’s face wrinkled in disgust, and Charles felt as though he’d never deserved it more, never wanted to die as much as he had at this moment, even when it was happening to him, even as the knife had touched his flesh. It was nothing compared to this, the revulsion, the ire of his lover and his god. Charles barely swallowed the dry sob that choked and raked at his throat, and squeezed his fists so hard the nails popped right through the skin of his palms. 

“At least tell me you killed the son of a bitch that did it,” Nathan ground out, and Charles blinked in dead surprise. The disgust, the anger that lay open on Nathan’s face was not meant for him. He could see it when Nathan’s eyes met his, how they softened, how they pitied him, and Charles couldn’t decide which was worse. 

No time to think about it, to measure which pain weighed heavier on his heart. Nathan awaited an answer, and Charles would supply one, though he hesitated to do so honestly. He had never killed anyone in front of his boys. Never talked about it, never hinted at it, never intended to let them know that he was capable of such a thing. And yet he felt a surge of satisfaction as the truth left his lips. “Yes. I killed him.”

For a minute Nathan did not respond, and Charles wondered if this were not the final nail in the coffin that was their working relationship, their personal relationship, the friendship they had cultivated over the last decade. Because surely Nathan was willing to overlook some things, turn a blind eye to others, but this, the fact that his manager was both a eunuch and a killer could not be ignored, and Charles felt his heart ache right up till the moment Nathan said, _“Good.”_

Emboldened, Charles swallowed and decided to speak freely for the first time, knowing that there was not much more he could lose. “I never intended for you to find out. And I especially didn’t intend for you to touch me. I can’t imagine how that must have upset you.” _Disgusted you. Repulsed you._ “But I’m being honest when I say that I didn’t want anything to happen between us. Not tonight. Not _ever._ ” Charles grit the last word out with such conviction that Nathan snapped his head back up to look at him. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked coldly, and in the darkness he looked wounded and mean.

Charles didn’t waver. “I mean what I’ve just said. I never wanted to burden you with this Nathan. But it was a mistake to come here tonight, and I accept responsibility for that. I should have picked another time. I should have explained it in my office, or in the conference room. I shouldn’t have come here and given you the wrong idea.”

“How is any of this your responsibility?” Nathan shot back. “I’m the one that told you to come to my room. You were just doing what asked you to do. If anything, I fucked this up. So it’s my fault.”

Charles shook his head no. 

“It is,” Nathan said, and his voice climbed up a few decibels. “I asked you to come here. I kissed you. I -- “ He lifted his hand and let it drop back to his lap as a fist. “I shoved my fucking hand down your pants. That’s on me.” 

Charles frowned. “You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself.” 

Nathan shrugged, a tight, angry motion, and fell silent. Charles tried to think of something to say to break the silence, but his brain wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t deviate from the constant loop of Nathan’s worst expressions, and the words that he’d said that had sunk in deepest. 

_I didn’t feel anything._

_I didn’t feel anything._

Charles was considering how much easier it would be to feel nothing when Nathan spoke again:

“Is this why you wouldn’t look at me?” He asked, and he shifted on the bed to angle his body toward Charles. 

Charles turned the question over in his mind for a minute before replying, “If it had happened to you, would you have looked at me?” 

“Huh. I guess not,” Nathan answered honestly. “But I don’t... That’s not what I want. I mean, I want you to look at me. And talk to me, and everything.” Charles must have looked doubtful, because Nathan carried on, “I’m serious. I’m telling you right now, I still... I dunno, I still want to be around you, okay? Like before.”

Charles felt his chest constrict, and tried to suck down a deep breath of air to loosen it. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I thought you’d understand, Nathan, but that’s not exactly possible anymore. There’s _nothing there. Nothing.”_

Nathan waved a hand impatiently. “That’s not what I meant. I was talking about the other shit. Just hanging out and like, I don’t know, fucking talking I guess. Like friends. Whatever, I just -- I don’t want things to be like they have since you’ve been back. It fucking sucks for me, alright?” 

“Okay,” Charles agreed, not quite believing what he was hearing. But he would agree to anything to be able to end the conversation. “That’s fair. And Nathan, could you do me a favor? If we're going to be friends?”

"What?" Nathan asked.

"Never mention this," Charles gestured around the room, toward himself, toward the pile of clothes that covered his lap. "Ever again. None of it." Nathan looked at him hard, seemed to weigh the condition in his mind, and eventually nodded in agreement. "Thank you."

The moment lapsed into silence, and Charles realized he was wasting time now, prolonging the event of his departure. It was always a transition with Nathan, an ordeal to convince him that it was time for him to leave, and so he forgave himself for putting it off tonight, seeing as he lacked the emotional stamina for the job. But he’d been there a long time now, much longer than he’d intended when he’d knocked on Nathan’s door, and could feel the deep, tired ache in his bones. In all his life, Charles wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so emotionally exhausted. His automatic desire was to sleep it off, to crawl into bed and power down for a few hours, but to do so would require a last burst of energy to convince Nathan that it was time for him to go. 

He looked at his watch, and Nathan caught the movement and stiffened. “I have to get going,” Charles said, and he pushed himself carefully off of the bed.

Nathan frowned at him, and when he spoke there was a softness to his voice, a gentle quality that aimed to put Charles at ease. “I was hoping you would sleep here tonight,” Nathan said, and he cut Charles off as he started to protest. “I know, I know, we can’t do anything. I swear to God I won’t even try. But just, please, don’t leave. Look,” Nathan shifted over to the far side of the bed. “I’ll sleep all the way over here. You won’t even notice me. Just, please. Don’t go.” 

_Don’t go._

_Don’t go._

Charles hesitated. 

What a comfort it would be to sleep in this bed again. To let Nathan hold him and kiss him and make him feel wanted, like he was cared for, like he was worth something. It would be so easy to fall back into the old habit, to blur the line he’d come here to draw tonight, and deep down Charles knew he wanted it, _needed_ it, more so than anything else. The pull was stronger than the fear, than the uncertainty, and above all else Charles ached to feel complete again, to forget for a few hours the hard truth of his new reality. Nathan offered to him peace, comfort, solace, and despite his better judgement Charles was desperate enough to take it, desperate to lie down and close his tired eyes.

“I have some work to finish up tonight,” Charles hedged, “but I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

Nathan’s answering smile was euphoric. Charles left his jacket and tie in a pile on the floor and crawled under the covers on his side of the bed. Nathan, true to his word, stayed where he was with several feet between them, and watched as Charles rolled onto his back to stare up at the canopy. 

How strange that this was both a familiar place and an alien one, as though he remembered lying here in another life. Charles listened to the familiar sounds of Nathan throwing back the blanket, getting under it and making himself comfortable, and wondered if by accepting Nathan’s bed he was giving the man false hope, that it would come to be an expectation that he would sleep with him again. After all, he had been weak, tired, ready to collapse, and Nathan had known that, taken advantage of it and coerced him into this position, given him a pillow to lay his weary head against. Charles fought the urge to mention it, to clarify again that his body was ruined and useless, and that Nathan was holding on to false hope if he thought otherwise, but a part of him hoped that the man understood, and had asked Charles to stay anyway knowing full well that he was damaged. And if that were the case, what exactly were either of them signing up for? Celibate companionship? A bedmate? 

“Are you sure that _this..._ is what you want?” Charles asked softly after a while, not quite understanding what he meant by ‘this,’ but hoping that Nathan knew, and was prepared to show him.

“I’m sure,” Nathan said, and he shifted cautiously in place, careful not to inch any closer toward Charles’ side. He closed his eyes, and Charles watched him for awhile, his slow, even breathing, the way his long hair tangled on the pillow. After a few minutes he thought Nathan had fallen asleep, until he suddenly heard him speak into his pillow:

“Charles?”

“Mm?”

Nathan moved around in the blankets and let out a soft, suffering sigh. “Don’t fucking laugh, okay, but… God, this sounds so fucking gay. Whatever. Can I at least just hold your hand?”

Charles raised his eyebrows and Nathan shot him a look, but he honored his request and did not laugh. There was no feeling of foreboding, of fear in allowing the man to hold his hand, and so with a kind smile he extended it toward Nathan, who smothered it in both of his own. His touch was gentle, reverent, and Charles felt his body relax to the familiar sensation of Nathan’s thumb stroking the backs of his knuckles. 

Nathan didn’t say anything more that night. Charles stayed put until he heard him start to snore, and then stayed for a few minutes longer with his eyes closed, imagining what it would be like to fall asleep here, to do the wrong thing and stay in bed with the man. 

But Charles never did the wrong thing, and in five minutes he was gone, and had tucked the blanket in on his side of the bed.


End file.
